Royal Portraits
by CuppaTea13
Summary: Snow was raised a Princess. (Snow's POV introspective, canon-compliant with some anti-Regina sentiments, no real spoilers, takes place anytime after the curse breaks.)


Snow was raised a Princess.

It seemed like that was often forgotten between the banditry, the battles, and the curses, but she was raised to be a ruler. Not just any ruler, but a _good_ one. It was her throne Regina had usurped, spawning the name _The Evil Queen;_ and it was her throne she and Charming had fought so hard for; and it was her throne that she had lost along with her newborn daughter in a terrible curse by a woman who set herself up as _Snow's_ people's intimidating Mayor.

It was Snow's throne that she was born and raised for, and Snow had grown up expecting to one day be called Queen Snow with an equal mix of excitement (think of all she could accomplish!) and fear (think of all the ways she could fail!).

Snow remembers clearly walking through the hall of paintings in her father's palace (that was now gone, another causality of the curse, but the portraits in it were burned long before by an angry, vengeful woman who had killed the King and exiled the Princess) and examining all the rulers who came before her. Sometimes she was looking for inspiration in these faces of the past- rulers who had made mistakes, who had made great strides, rulers known for their kindness, their valor, their charity. There were few black sheep in Snow's family, and those that did exist were often quickly dealt with by members of the family who were willing to sacrifice and fight for the benefit of the kingdom's people. Her father had wanted nothing more than the happiness of every person in his kingdom, and that had been instilled in each King and Queen over the generations by the family.

Sometimes she looked at the portraits in an attempt to picture what hers may one day look like, hanging there beside her father's.

She always imagined she'd be smiling, in a royal gown (one perhaps styled after her mother's favorite, but in a snow white fabric rather than the blood red that had been Queen Eva's gown), the crown balanced delicately on her head, with all it's privilege and responsibility and weight, but with a strong tilt to her chin to hold it up as her father and ancestors had done.

Snow sometimes even tried to imagine what her child's portrait would look like there.

When she had regained the castle and found all those portraits, all that history burned, she had cried, but then she had commissioned one of herself, and also asked an artist who had known the royal family to repaint one of her father for the halls. And Snow promised that the hall would, in generations' time, be restored to it's hallowed feeling of ancestry and longevity. And her father's, her own, and her daughter's portraits would start it all. A new set of portraits. A fresh start after a terrible time of death and imprisonment for the royal family and the people.

She always pictured them smiling in those paintings.

But now, as Snow looked at her daughter, who had never worn a crown, who would probably never inherit the throne (she was the same age as her daughter- Emma would be just as old as Snow whenever she and Charming stepped down, Emma would never rule (and, as much as a part of Snow hated the realization, Emma would probably prefer it that way)), Snow did not picture Emma's royal portrait the same as she first had when Snow had become pregnant.

There were little things- Snow had initially pictured Emma inheriting her own dark hair, rather than Charming's blonde, and some of Emma's features were unexpected delights (she seemed to have inherited her Grandmother Eva's nose, and her Grandmother Ruth's cheekbones).

Mostly, Snow couldn't picture Emma smiling in a royal portrait.

She couldn't picture her daughter in a royal gown, crown balanced delicately on her head, smile bright and eyes wise but kind.

Snow remembered one portrait in the hall- a distant grandfather of innumerable greats, who had looked at the observer with a tired gaze, his eyes steely and shuttered, hiding his thoughts, his mouth, not frowning, but solemn and slightly grim. He was the younger brother, but when the elder had inherited the throne, he had turned into a tyrant king, and, at the people's urging, this king had risen up and challenged his brother, ending with the elder brother's death and the younger brother's crowning.

Emma, Snow thought, would've had a portrait like that.

Emma would be painted in a leather jacket and jeans, her father's sword clutched in hands that were firm, but still somehow giving the air of uncertainty. Emma would've been painted, not in a royal hall or grand room, but probably an empty street of Storybrooke, or a dark forest, or before a chaotic ocean. Emma would've been painted, not with a crown, but with her face set in stone, her mouth turned down in concentration, her eyes hiding her pain, and her shoulders slumped with all the weight that had been put on her with the title _Savior_.

Snow had thought the title _Queen_ would be overwhelming, even with being trained for the day she would take the crown her whole life. She couldn't imagine what her daughter, raised to believe she was nothing and no one, felt with a title like _Savior_.

It was this realization: that Emma would have no smiling portrait, even if they did return to their land and Emma did assume the throne, that had brought all the ramifications of the curse to Snow's eyes in startling relief. Snow was a ruler, raised to be one, and she knew how to see far-reaching consequences, knew how to make the best decision in the least amount of time. She had been trained, been raised, been _born_ for it: that was why she had been able to tell Charming to take Emma to the wardrobe.

Snow was no fool- she knew Emma's life was at stake with Regina storming the castle, and she knew that the kingdom was all but already lost to the curse.

All Snow could decide was whether or not her daughter would live.

It was never up for debate, and Snow, in her moments of thought on what it would be like when Emma broke the curse, as prophesied, and their family was reunited, knew there would be far-reaching and painful consequences. Knew that their family's relationship would be...unique.

But there was no real way to see all of life's consequences until they were before you, and that was what Snow was faced with now.

Because her daughter would never be smiling in a royal portrait.

But, her daughter was wonderful: she was many of the things Snow and Charming had imagined her to be: strong, and compassionate, able to put others first, a fighter, one who was unafraid to say what she believed and do what she thought right. But there were also many aspects of Emma that Snow and Charming had never prepared for (had never gotten the opportunity _to_ prepare for): Emma was hurt, and suspicious, and wary, and afraid to put her heart out there. Emma had been hurt too many times by people who had been supposed to help her.

And so she would never smile in a royal portrait.

But Emma was something Snow didn't feel sure she could claim for herself: Emma was a wonderful mother. Emma put Henry first in all things, Emma did what it took to ensure Henry's safety, Emma made her son feel _loved_ and _safe_ , and Snow, still struggling with how to make her daughter feel that way, knew full well how very important that was.

Maybe Henry would be able to smile for the royal painter.


End file.
